


constellations

by astillsoftershade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person, Sleepy Boys, i guess, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astillsoftershade/pseuds/astillsoftershade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jean Prouvaire is covered in freckles, from his nose to his shoulders to his knees"</p>
<p>courfeyrac reflects at 2am</p>
            </blockquote>





	constellations

**Author's Note:**

> literally my first attempt at writing/posting anything like this so it probably doesn't make much sense but oh well!

\--

Jean Prouvaire is covered in freckles, from his nose to his shoulders to his knees.  
  
Sometimes, when he runs out of paper, he writes down his poetry in gentle cursive tripping between the freckles on his forearms, and sometimes when he’s asleep next to you, face turned to the side with curls spread across the pillow, you trace your fingers between the freckles on his back or kiss your way along the freckles on his jaw. Sometimes he will wake up and give you a sleepy smile, one that makes your heart flutter, before pulling you down to kiss his mouth instead. Other times he remains sleeping, leaving you to marvel over the utter beauty of your little poet, your love, and wonder over how the constellations across his body could be so perfect. It’s different with him that with everyone else you’ve been with – he bubbles and brims and spills over with words strung together with emotion, he is so full of feelings all of the time, and it rubs off on you, so that you want to curl around him when he is reading in your armchair, wearing one of his endearingly ridiculous jumpers, and whisper the words out loud to him.  
  
This is one of those times that he does not wake up, his lips merely lifting their way into at half sweet smile before exhaling air into your collarbone, and you ponder over just how unlike anything else, ever, this is. You try to compare it to kissing your way down Musichetta’s spine, to the rough clashing of tongues and teeth and tears and comfort in a drunken haze with Grantaire, and to your experimentations with Bahorel. When you look down at the beauty beneath you, from where you are propped on your elbow, you notice how much more like a dream than any of those occurrences this seems, and yet, at the same time, infinitely more real.  
  
You look across at the clock next to the bed where it sits with a vase of Michaelmas daisies. He likes daisies, and so you always make sure to keep some there for him to care for; if he wakes up in a good mood then you are automatically prompted into one – it’s hard to scowl with a radiant smile beaming up at you, even it if is 6am and you’ve been woken by the alarm.  
  
At this precise moment, however, it is only 2am, and your Jehan is asleep, and you are noticing the slight chill in the air. You sigh, and relax your elbow so you can lie fully next to him. As you pull the cover up around you your cool hand brushes the warmth of his stomach and he wakes with a shiver. He shifts his legs up around your waist and pulls you in close to him in order to share the sleep-aided warmth he has acquired, whilst stroking your chin gently and touching his mouth to yours, eyes bright.  
  
“Courf”, he whispers against your lips, so soft you can feel it almost more than you can hear it, “come to sleep, angel”.  
  
A single word, “Jehan”, escapes your mouth as you kiss him back, before surrendering to dreams of your own, personal constellations.


End file.
